


From a Table Away

by winter_angst



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Adultery, Cheating, Heartbreak, M/M, Unrequited Love, low calorie angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:07:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28714035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst
Summary: Brock lives for Jack.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Jack Rollins, Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	From a Table Away

**Author's Note:**

> title and inspiration from From a Table Away by Sunny Sweeney

His eyes were pools of liquid pine with incredible depth and complexity. There were flecks of ambers around his pupils, bright against its earthy backdrop. His eyes were upturned, framed with dark lashes. He had a long straight nose, free of imperfections, a smooth slope to a pointed end. His lips were thin and pink. He had a scar, a tone or two paler than his skin that ran from his lip to his chin. 

Brock couldn’t see all of that from the table he was sitting at but he knew Jack’s face well. He had stared into those eyes countless times during borrowed time in the safety of a Days Inn or Brock’s studio apartment that always smelled like Yankee Candles and marijuna. Brock could almost feel his hands on his body; they knew it so well. Seven months gave ample time to learn a partner’s body after all. Seven months of promises, of building toward Brock getting to have Jack for his very own. Brock had been promised forever; that they would be able to celebrate their love in the light of day instead of hidden away like some dirty secret. It felt like one sometimes, when Brock accidentally messaged him at the wrong time of day because he’d happened upon a fern that reminded him of his eyes or saw a couple that looked just as happy as they were together. 

Brock lived for those moments he spent with Jack, stolen or not. He lived for Jack, for his touch and his smell. For the way he looked at him when he was inside him, for the gentleness of his kisses. It stung when he was pushed to the side, when he was reminded their love was a secret. He wanted to shout from the rafters about Jack, about they were fated to be together. Brock fantasized about what it would be like to be shown off with pride instead of hidden away. To go out to restaurants and not sit in the shadowy corners away from all eyes. If Brock misunderstood his intentions, saw it as shame instead of a necessary evil, he would be offended. But he knew that should they be discovered Jack would end up paying more in alimony. 

But right now all of that was faded to the background. Jack wasn’t alone. He was dining with a blond man. He wasn’t hiding in the shadows, he was sitting beside the window; blatant and open.

Jack was with his husband. 

He wasn’t homely, like Jack had described him. Brock could see his face from where he was seated with his best friend. They tried to do a monthly fine dining outing -- what were the chances of ending up at the same restaurant? Jack’s husband had great bone structure and opal eyes. He was smiling and it was radiant and bright. It lit up his face, made those blue eyes glow. There was nothing plain about him, not from his face, his build, his carefully toned body in a well fitting jacket. His shoulders were free of tension and Jack reached across the table to put his hand over his. Their wedding bands caught the dancing flames of the candle sitting in the center of the table. Jack was smiling, a real smile, the sweet genuine one that was wide and so very open. It wasn’t the kind of smile smiled at a man he had fallen out of love with. 

“Brock? What’s wrong?” Natasha asked, her forkful of mixed greens suspended in the air. 

“It’s Jack.” Brock felt strangely numb. 

“What?” Natasha looked around the restaurant before her eyes settled on him. It took her all of a second to put two and two together and she dropped her voice to a soft tone of pity. “Oh.” 

“I’m such an idiot.” 

“Brock -- ”

“No, Tasha. I should have known he was playing me. All that talk about leaving him? He was just stringing me along.” Brock looked at his plate, suddenly turned off his braised beef cheeks. 

“You should go over there,” Natasha announced, a sharp light entering her eyes as she directed a very open glare at them. 

Neither noticed, too wrapped up in each other. Two men in love, two men who looked at each other like they couldn’t wait to get alone. It was the same way that Jack would look at Brock and that hurt. He wasn’t special, he was just a side piece. A toy that Jack played with when he was bored. Jack was stroking Clint’s forearm now, long slender fingers that Brock loved so much tracing lines along his husband’s milky skin. Brock’s heart squeezed uncomfortably and he felt a bit nauseated. Emotion marred his throat raw and he shook his head hard immediately. Brock wasn’t a victim; he’d known that Jack was married and pursued a relationship anyway. He deserved the heartache that came along with it. 

“What do you mean no? At the very least his husband deserves to know.” 

She made sense, because of course she did, but Brock couldn’t do it. He wasn’t strong enough to do it. He was embarrassed that he had been so stupid. Maybe it was cowardly but Brock just couldn’t do it; not now at least. Maybe once the shock wore off and anger replaced the heartache he’d wanted to expose Jack’s slimy ways but for right now he just wanted to go home and leave the apparently happy couple to their own devices. All he wanted was his bed and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s to comfort him. 

“I just… I can’t deal with this right now.” Brock’s voice hitched at the end. 

The fire in Natasha’s eyes extinguished and the redhead went from vindictive to sympathetic in one fell swoop. “Let’s get out of here. We can go back to my place and watch John Tucker Must Die.” 

“I’d rather just go home,” Brock said, looking around for their waiter. He wasn’t the kind to ever flag a server but he wasn’t suddenly terrified of Jack noticing him. 

“Then I’ll come with you.” 

“You don’t need to do that. I’m not going to kill myself or anything.” 

“I didn’t think you would but I intended to spend tonight with you anyway. I’m not a fan of deviating my routine. We can swing by the grocery store and get taquitos.” 

Brock tried to smile at his friends’ efforts but it was too difficult so he looked down at his lemon water and took a sip. It felt like hours before he caught sight of their waiter and managed to catch his attention. He requested boxes for the two of them and thrust his card out a bit more aggression than he intended. He made a mental note to tip heavily to make up for it. Natasha had already Venmo’d her portion of the meal and was slipping into her soft shell red jacket to brave the blustery late November weather. It was approaching the time that Jack and Brock could usually text and Brock was utterly terrified of it. 

What was he supposed to say, if anything at all? Should he ignore it? Should he air it out immediately to save them both the trouble? Would Brock pretend everything was okay because the idea of life without Jack was bleak and sad? Brock wasn’t sure which option was worst. 

The server came back with their boxes and Brock signed hastiley, shoveled his nearly untouched meal into it and got to his feet. Natasha was having some trouble keeping up and Brock would feel bad about that tomorrow but tonight he was just desperate to get out of the restaurant, away from Jack. He legged it to the car, resting his forehead against the window and released a dangerously ragged breath. Brock wasn’t going to fall apart in a restaurant parking lot, he wouldn’t let himself. He wasn’t going to give Jack that power over him. 

It was a fruitless endeavor because as he exhaled pressure built up behind his eyes and his chest seared with suppressed sobs. He began to shiver, body overwhelmed with emotions. Brock squeezed his hands into fists as his breathing came fast and irregular, harsh and painful. It was stupid to be so upset when he’d set himself up for this heartbreak, set himself up to be the idiot in love with a man who was married. That he’d allowed himself to trust Jack. But why wouldn’t he have? Jack had been so genuine, so open from the beginning. 

“I’m married,” he’d opened with, “but it’s a loveless marriage that I am ending.” 

Who wouldn’t have taken that as a green light? And keeping it hidden for his financial sake felt only polite. Now, in hindsight, it was so glaring obvious that it wasn’t a relationship but an affair. Brock had seen what he wanted to and now he had gotten what he deserved. But Brock had really believed that Jack was the One. His One True Love; what a fucking idiot he was. 

“Brock,” Natasha jogged across the parking lot. “Are you okay?” 

Brock opened his mouth to tell her he was fine but all that left him was a punched out sob. Natasha embraced him and it was ridiculous, him taller than her by several inches, but being held felt nice. The worst part of it was that he wished he was in Jack’s arms. That it was Jack assuring him it was okay, that it was Jack telling he’d misinterpreted what he’d seen but Brock knew he hadn’t. He didn’t doubt that Jack would say those words but Brock knew he wouldn’t believe them. He couldn’t, not anymore. Perhaps Brock should have been strong enough to cross the restaurant and confront him, let Clint know exactly what Jack said about him, about Jack’s adultery and encourage him to get all the alimony he could. But that opportunity had passed and now Brock had to find a way to cope with the fallout from his discovery. 

It wouldn’t be easy, not in the slightest. But it wouldn’t be forever. One day this moment wouldn’t cause him as much pain. He’d recover and move on, find a healthy relationship, one that he could have in the day. Brock had been a fool to want a man who belonged to someone else and in that way he deserved what he felt now. Jack had entwined himself into Brock’s life, rooted deep and it wouldn't be easy to untangle himself. There wouldn’t be arms to fall back into, a warm chest to be cradled to in the halflight of hotel rooms; no scratchy sheets and the heady smell of sex. It would be a fight, the hardest fight of his life, but he would battle. He had to; he didn’t have an option. 

Jack Rollins wouldn’t win. 

When Brock was eating taquitos he mustered up all his courage and texted Jack. 

Brock: I saw you tonight with Clint.

Jack: It’s not what you think.

Brock: It’s over. Don’t contact me again. 

Brock could see the icon that Jack was typing but he didn’t give him a chance. He blocked his number with tears in his eyes. It wasn’t easy, it hurt far more than expected, but it was done with. 

It was a small step towards healing.


End file.
